


killing eve 1x05 missing scene

by etymology



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Deleted Scenes, F/F, Missing Scene, POV Eve Polastri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-11
Updated: 2018-05-11
Packaged: 2019-04-27 21:47:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14434764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etymology/pseuds/etymology
Summary: “I just want to have dinner with you.”short ficlet detailing what happened between eve and villanelle in the bathroom and eventually ending with them going down to the kitchen. canon compliant.





	killing eve 1x05 missing scene

**Author's Note:**

> might turn this work into some kind of deleted/missing scenes from killing eve thing but until then here have this scene from 105

**105 - 21:56**

//

_“I just want to have dinner with you.”_

_“Okay?”_

_“Okay.”_

Villanelle stares down at her until her breathing calms.

“You should-” says Eve, halfway through trying to figure out what she should say to get Villanelle off of her. The weight of her is comfortable, even though her legs don’t quite fit the tub and she’s bent in what would otherwise be an uncomfortable way.

“Yes,” says Villanelle, agreeing. She pushes up and out from the bath in one smooth motion, and Eve is left in a wet puddle, looking up at her ceiling and wondering if she’s ever going to have another bath ever again, especially not in this tub.

Villanelle looks down at her, and Eve remembers that she’s supposed to be getting out of the tub. Right.

There’s something rather undignified about trying to crawl out of a bath while wearing the most gorgeous and form-fitting dress she’s worn in half a decade, especially when her hair is wet and sticking to her eyes. Eve would honestly prefer that Villanelle simply kill her.

“May I help?” asks Villanelle, arm already poised above Eve’s own, eagerly awaiting permission.

“No,” says Eve, instinctively. “I’m fine.”

“That you are, Eve Polastri,” says Villanelle. Her surname pulls Eve out of the stupor she had accidentally fallen into.

Assassin for hire, right.

Who is.. _not_ here to kill her, somehow.

Villanelle pulls her arm back, making it seem like the most natural movement in the world. She does not blame her own impatience on Eve; she does not fault Eve for not wanting her help, even though she clearly needs it.

Can one die of embarrassment at being incapable of getting out of a bath while wearing a form-fitting, now wet dress? Eve thinks she’ll be the first.

“On second thought,” says Eve, turning into Villanelle’s gaze, daring her. She holds out her hand, and buries the feeling of guilt for letting her gym membership go to waste.

Villanelle grabs her forearm, pulls her up in barely a second. Eve can’t help wonder how much of that is a job requirement and how much of it is simply Villanelle wanting to stay in shape. She does not think that there’s much of a difference to the woman.

Eve steps out of the bath, the tiles heavy under her feet. Solid. She’s forgetting something, she’s sure of it, but it’s like a word on the tip of her tongue. It’ll come to her.

Well, she _looks_ like she’s here to kill her. She’s wearing the exact same clothes she was wearing back in Bletcham; dressed like what most of the public thinks an assassin would wear to kill a target.

Except, Villanelle has a habit of playing a role—the nurse, twice; the woman in a dress playing with children in Tuscany—so what role is she playing now? Or, what role was she playing before, when she had been sent to kill Frank?

Villanelle’s hand is still holding her arm. The ring she’s wearing on her index finger is pressed against Eve’s skin; it is warm, worn. Eve does not think that the ring is part of her disguise—if she’s even wearing one.

“Thanks,” says Eve, pulling her arm back. Villanelle takes her hand, flexes it and presses it to her thigh; she stops when she notices that Eve’s eyes are on her fingers.

“Shall we,” she says, in an attempt to change the subject.

Eve does not need to question the assassin; the skin on her forearm where Villanelle had grabbed her is still burning. Niko hasn’t made her skin tingle in such a long, long time. With the way her forearm feels, she’s starting to wonder if he ever did to begin with.

“Yes,” replies Eve.

“After you,” says Villanelle, motioning for Eve to exit the room ahead of her.

Eve nods, and walks towards the door. The lock’s been damaged, and half the doorframe has been split down the middle. The kick, of course.

“I am sorry for breaking down your door,” says Villanelle, from behind her, and Eve tries to calm her breathing because she is standing so much closer to her than she had suspected she would.

“It’s fine,” says Eve, knowing that she has to come up with an excuse for Niko.

She’s not sure that, “An assassin broke into our house and I thought she was here to murder me so I locked myself in the bathroom and she broke the door down only to ask me out to dinner,” is going to cut it.

Maybe she could say that she locked herself out of the bathroom and had to break the door down herself. He.. might believe that. (There was not a chance in hell that he would believe that.)

“I’ll send you a replacement,” says Villanelle, and Eve can hear the wood creak. She turns, finds Villanelle looking at the door with studious eyes.

Had she ever taken up carpentry? Eve, unlike half of her superiors, has thought about this—Villanelle and what she does in her free time—because an assassin must have hobbies to fill the time between targets.

“There’s no need,” she says, stopping at the top of the stairs.

“I insist,” says Villanelle, still staring at the now useless lock. Her fingers trace the wood, and Eve is seconds from telling her to be careful. “It is important to have a lock on your bathroom door.”

“Do _you_ have one on _your_ bathroom door?”

“I don’t need one,” says Villanelle, absently. She presses her index finger to the lock once more and then pulls her fingers back. “I keep a gun next to my bath.”

“Oh,” says Eve, who’s supposed to keep hers in a safe—when she remembers, anyway. She thinks that’s just as useless as the lock on her bathroom door now. “Of course.”

The stairs are a quiet affair, with Eve leading the way down to the kitchen and Villanelle following close behind, silently. She can feel Villanelle’s breath down the back of her neck, but whenever she turns, Villanelle is always two, three steps behind her.

Eve does not know if it’s because Villanelle is moving away from her every time or if it’s just her own heightened and panicked sense that’s making her think the woman was closer to her than she actually was.

She thinks that it’s fair, to be nervous, when the assassin who killed one of her best friends has just broken into her house and asked her out to dinner, and was now following her to the kitchen.

Eve tries not to think about what they’re going to eat once they get there. She hasn’t cooked dinner in months; Niko has managed to get her to eat actual food on a regular basis instead of instant noodles and macaroni and cheese in mugs, all because he’s the one preparing it.

She’s not sure what Villanelle expects of her, really.

The front door is locked, of course. She was the one who locked it. Eve walks towards the kitchen, because she doubts that familiarity with the landscape will act as a benefit against Villanelle. Also, she doesn’t quite want to escape at the moment.

Eve is in no danger; certainly not from the woman following her.

It hits her as she walks into the kitchen. She’s wet and it’s really cold. That’s what she was forgetting. Shock, she supposes. Makes it quite simple to forget even the most basic of details.

She watches as Villanelle puts her hands over the chair at the end of the dining room table, almost tentatively. Eve motions for her to sit down.

The woman makes a show of taking off her jacket, and draping it over the chair, then finally sitting down, with her arm slung across the back of it. Eve hates how relaxed she looks; how well she blends into her surroundings. She’s dangerous merely because she’s far too good at making herself easy to gloss over.

_“Um. Uh, I don’t really have much to, uh-”_

_“I will eat anything,” says Villanelle, warmly. “Thank you.”_

**Author's Note:**

> watch killing eve on sundays at 8/7c on bbc america


End file.
